


Storm's Eye

by Arukou



Series: Tumblr Archive the Second [13]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: D/s overtones, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sexual Harassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 19:17:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17028468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arukou/pseuds/Arukou
Summary: He's tossing on the waves, and he has no way to find safe harbor.





	Storm's Eye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MusicalLuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/gifts).



> Originally posted [here](http://arukou-arukou.tumblr.com/tagged/fanfiction) to accompany MusicalLuna's [magnificent art](https://musicalluna-draws.tumblr.com/post/177886396482/thisll-probably-get-a-proper-color-at-some-point). She said I had to write something about it, so I did.

He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe at all. There are iron bands around his chest, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing down and if he doesn’t run he’s going to collapse. Steve doesn’t know what he says, how he excuses himself, if he even excuses himself at all or just runs off, unconscionably rude to the guests. All he knows is he’s in the second floor hallway beyond the restricted access sign, the lights at half-strength, an EXIT sign glowering redly at him from the end of the hall. The air isn’t moving. His lungs aren’t moving. Why can’t he _breathe?_

Desperately, he rips at his tailored suit jacket, flinching as fabric seams give way to his strength. The tie next, the knot for a moment cutting off his throat, his trachea, making his tongue swell. When it slides from his neck, the relief is so immediate, so intense, that he slips to his knees. Numb fingers fumble at his shirt buttons, undoing the top two, popping the buttons from the cuffs entirely. He pushes his sleeves up…why? What is possessing him? Why isn’t it getting better?

He jumps badly when fingers touch his hair, burrowing down to his scalp and scratching. It’s not until he catches a whiff of aftershave and cologne through his wheezing that he realizes.

“Tony.” A croak, a creak, like a ghost trailing through empty hallways. Is that all he is? Some wraith from a bygone era?

“Hey, big guy. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” It’s as though someone has cracked an egg over his head, a sense of slow coolness flowing from the place where Tony’s hand rests so confidently, so perfectly.

The next breath hurts, but it’s easier. And then easier again. And then again.

“There we go. There we go. You’re being so good for me, Steve.”

He shudders a little, coolness now not just on his skin but licking down his throat, ice water on a boiling summer’s day, the first snow on his tongue. He wants to feel like this always. Not cold. Never cold again. But floating, like there is only Tony and him.

“Do you think you can tell me what happened?”

Steve jerks under Tony’s touch, shakes his head harshly. He can still feel it. The rough cruel hand on his buttocks, the hard, callous squeeze to his balls, the old man leering at him like he should think it’s some sort of favor. “Your so good at patriotic speeches. Wouldn’t you like to show me what else that mouth can do?” Everything in him starts crawling at the violation of it, the feeling of being made small and useless and weak again, all the things he's not supposed to be anymore.

“Hey, hey. I’m here. It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. I’m here. I’m here.” Such a simple statement, but it’s everything. Because Tony’s not saying he’s here only for a moment. He’s saying he’s here always. For Steve. For them both. A shield between Steve and the world in this moment, and whenever Steve needs it, and someone to be protected with Steve as the shield when Tony needs it.

Tony’s fingers are skilled, even though they’re only working over Steve’s scalp. The scratch of his nails is heaven, bringing back that sense of calm coolness. He squeezes ever so gently, applying pressure to the places where Steve’s psychosomatic migraines always originate from. Tony works in circles, starting from the very crown of Steve’s head and working outward in a spiral, alternating scratching and rubbing, smoothing his hair back only to start the whole cycle all over again.

Cool and calm transform into pleasure and then into a distant tunnel, the sense of their absolute solitude together returning. Steve floats off and melts into the sea of Tony’s reassurance, his bones going liquid until he realizes he’s bowed into Tony’s hip.

“There you go. How beautiful you are, Steve. Look at you. Just look at you.”

Steve’s power of speech left him with the initial panic, and he doesn’t need or want it now. Tony understands without words exactly what Steve needs, and he gives it always and completely.

“Beautiful. What do you say, my love? Shall we go home? I think home is where we need to be now.”

The thought of being in their bedroom, in Tony’s arms, being everything Tony wants and needs, sends an anticipatory curl of warmth through his belly and he nods, wrapping a hand loosely around Tony’s ankle to show him Steve is ready, is willing, is wanting.

“Come on then, my love. Stand for me and we’ll sneak out the back. They won’t miss us.”

Steve stands and Tony’s hand moves with him, shifting to the nape of Steve’s neck where he presses and rubs and scratches until it’s all Steve can do to keep his knees. Tony leads him so naturally, his warm hand guiding Steve to the exit, his honeyed voice drawing Steve further and further asea, but there are no violent waves or storms where Steve finds himself. He is becalmed, content to stare up at the stars as Tony’s currents take him where they will.

**Author's Note:**

> You can maybe find me [on Tumbr](http://arukou-arukou.tumblr.com/) if I have not been purged.


End file.
